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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532313">First Christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos'>miraworos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates With Feelings, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The Brain Cell is on Holiday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:47:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/pseuds/miraworos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first Christmas Eve at South Downs, wherein Aziraphale and Crowley still have much to confess.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>First Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkreeBat/gifts">SkreeBat</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is part of the Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange and is a gift for the lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkreeBat/pseuds/SkreeBat">SkreeBat</a>!! This fic came out of their prompt: "Sharing a cozy evening at home when it's snowing heavily outside." Hope you like it, dear!</p><p>And much gratitude goes to my beloved beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk">Z A Dusk</a> for gently coaxing me into letting the stew have the ending it so desired.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you remember our first Christmas, dear?”</p><p>Crowley set the lid on a traditional Christmas Eve stew, threatening the pot with instant destruction were it to even think of boiling over, as he considered Aziraphale’s question. It wasn’t exactly an easy one to answer, as they’d crossed paths many times around the turning of the year. Not to mention, “Christmas” as it was now known had not always been celebrated the same way or even at the same time of year. </p><p>“Would that be Saint Stephen’s Day at Tarragona in…what was it…1266?” Crowley answered, wiping his hands on a Christmas-themed kitchen towel that would transform back to tartan once the holiday was over. </p><p>He looked up as the angel’s smile faltered.</p><p>“No—no. Christmas, dear. Before Tarragona.”</p><p>Crowley frowned. Before Tarragona…what was before Tarragona? Brittany? Prague? Montenegro?</p><p>Crowley wandered into the pantry while thinking, picking through the seasonings for the stew.</p><p>“Innocents Day, then?” he called from the pantry. “Colchester? 1124?”</p><p>“No, not Innocents. <em> Christmas </em>. Before the Arrangement.”</p><p>Crowley popped his head out of the pantry to regard the angel with a questioning look. “Before the Arrangement? There wasn’t much in the way of Christmas before the Arrangement. Nor much in the way of <em> us </em>, to be honest.”</p><p>“Oh, never mind,” Aziraphale huffed, selecting a book from the stack near his chair and setting his glasses on his nose.</p><p>Crowley let the matter drop as he carried the various spices back to the worktop next to the stove. He opened the lid, hissing as the heat of the metal handle singed his skin. Then he ignored it, picking up the wooden spoon to stir the chunks of meat and carrot and potato.</p><p>“Oh, you mean <em> the </em>first Christmas,” Crowley said, finally catching on. “Rome, 336.”</p><p>Aziraphale set his book down with deliberation. “Thank you. Yes.”</p><p>Crowley rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t called Christmas then.”</p><p>“Feast of the Nativity, then—whatever.”</p><p>“It’s not like we meant to spend it together. We just happened—”</p><p>“To be in the same place at the same time, I know, dear. But the fact is, it <em> was </em> our first Christmas.”</p><p>Crowley snorted as he added a generous sprinkle of paprika to the broth. “I suppose.” He set the paprika down and re-lidded the pot. Then he turned to face the angel, leaning against the counter and hooking his hands round his elbows. “I remember. Why do you ask?”</p><p>Aziraphale removed his glasses in a nervous, fidgety sort of gesture that felt incongruous to the subject matter.</p><p>Crowley began to feel uneasy. They’d only just moved into the South Downs cottage together a month ago. Crowley had presented the idea as something of an excuse to get Aziraphale out of London for a few years. The angel had developed a nervous habit of always looking over his shoulder, as if waiting for Head Office to swoop back in and make good on its threat of annihilation. </p><p>Crowley thought that maybe getting out of London would help, and luckily, he was able to persuade Aziraphale to his way of thinking. Never mind that he’d still not been demon enough to confess his actual more-than-mere-friends feelings for the angel. He could put that off a bit longer if it meant easing the angel’s mind about their situation.</p><p>But now Aziraphale was acting strangely, and come to think of it, had been acting so for the last three days or so. Did he regret caving to Crowley’s persuasion? Was there something about their living situation—separate rooms, a library for Aziraphale, a garden for Crowley, a home-cooked meal every night—that didn’t didn’t work for him? Had Crowley mucked it all up by asking him to move in before saying anything about the love part? And what did any of this have to do with Rome?</p><p>Blissfully unaware of the creeping panic taking over Crowley’s skull, Aziraphale approached the kitchen with a tentative gait. He wouldn’t <em> quite </em> look at Crowley, though he wasn’t exactly looking away either. Crowley’s heart hammered with the not-knowing.</p><p>“Do you remember what happened that day?” Aziraphale asked, peeking up at Crowley and then down again.</p><p>“I…believe we ran into each other at the circus.”</p><p>“Just after,” Aziraphale corrected, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Chariot races were never really my thing.”</p><p>Crowley barked a sharp laugh. “Nor mine, really. Horses being horses. Good place for a temptation, though. So much gambling. And it being a celebration of the Nativity didn’t seem to slow them down.”</p><p>“I was there for the wine, of course,” Aziraphale said.</p><p>“Oh, of course.”</p><p>Aziraphale let a silence hang between them as he fidgeted.</p><p>Crowley swallowed, his mouth dry. “Everything alright, angel?”</p><p>Aziraphale looked up briefly. “Yes, dear. Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>“You seem a little off. Is it the cottage?” Crowley asked, wincing. He had meant to ask if it was living together that was bothering the angel, but he chickened out at the last second, deflecting.</p><p>“Not at all, dear. The cottage is lovely.”</p><p>Silence fell again, growing ever more awkward as Aziraphale didn’t continue and yet wouldn’t let Crowley’s attention go. Finally, Crowley had no option but to speak more plainly.</p><p>“Is it me, Aziraphale? Something wrong with—” he gestured between them “—this?”</p><p>“I—well—I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, his cheeks flushing.</p><p>Crowley gripped the countertop behind him for support and bit the inside of his cheek. <em> Here it comes </em> , he thought. <em> Too fast too fast too fast… </em></p><p>“I— er—well, the circus,” Aziraphale continued. “We ran into each other at the circus, and then we discovered we were headed in the same…i-in the same general direction, you see, and we started walking together.”</p><p>“Angel, what does—?”</p><p>“Please, just bear with me, dear. I have to say this my way.”</p><p>Crowley held his breath, not sure if he’d be capable of breathing normally again until Aziraphale had finished his rambling.</p><p>Meanwhile, clearing his throat and wringing his hands, Aziraphale began again.</p><p>“We walked the Via Appia between the basilica and catacombs of San Sebastiano, a-and then it started to…well, to-to…”</p><p>“It started to rain,” Crowley supplied. “We ducked under the archway of the mausoleum.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, still looking everywhere but at Crowley.</p><p>“What does this have to do with us?” Crowley asked, both impatient for the angel to arrive at the point and fearful of what might happen when he did.</p><p>“I’m getting there, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, his tone more whisper than speech.</p><p>Crowley clenched his jaw, looking down himself. His heart tapped an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, the mad thing. How had it fallen for an angel, <em> this </em> angel in particular, even? Was his whole existence doomed to be a swan-dive into one despair after another?</p><p>“If you remember, I was a bit put out, because I thought there’d be more of an actual <em> feast </em> at the Feast of the Nativity, but it was all just sport, really, and during the circus, I’d gotten hungry, and I’d wanted to stop at the market on my way back to the villa, but with the downpour, it didn’t seem likely the market would still be there when it let up, and I must have said something to that effect, because you laughed at me.”</p><p>He’d started off the sentence at a normal clip, but by the end, the words were tumbling so haphazardly out of his mouth that they slammed abruptly into the final full-stop. </p><p>Was that what all this was about? Aziraphale was upset because Crowley had laughed at him once centuries ago?</p><p>“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Crowley said at once, ready to apologize as many times as it took for Aziraphale to give this another chance.</p><p>But Aziraphale waved him off. “Oh, I know, dear. It’s not as if you don’t laugh at me all the time. I am very funny, after all.”</p><p>Crowley stared at the angel, completely at a loss as to how to respond to that.</p><p>“Anyway, I was peckish,” Aziraphale said, seeming to finally warm to the conversation. “And you pulled a pomegranate from your chiton and handed it to me.”</p><p>“I’d forgotten about that,” Crowley said, bemused out of his worry for a moment. </p><p>“Do you remember what you said?”</p><p>Crowley snorted. “I’m fairly certain it wasn’t ‘Merry Christmas.’”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled indulgently in response. “No, dear. You said that you remembered I liked pomegranates from our time in the Garden. You’d purchased it earlier in case you ran into me and I was peckish.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. I did say that, didn’t I? Guess things haven’t changed that much.”</p><p>Aziraphale sobered, his expression turning melancholy. “No, they haven’t,” he said. Then he squared his shoulders and looked up resolutely. “But I intend for them to. Starting today.”</p><p>“Er, you do?” Crowley said, nervous again.</p><p>Aziraphale nodded sharply once. “Indeed.”</p><p>“Should I be worried?”</p><p>“Why should you be worried?”</p><p>“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”</p><p>Aziraphale gave Crowley an exasperated look. “My dear boy, I am trying to apologize to you.”</p><p>Crowley nearly fell over from the loss of equilibrium this conversation was continually causing him. </p><p>“What? Why? Aren’t I supposed to be apologizing to you?”</p><p>“Whatever for?”</p><p>“For the pomegranate thing.”</p><p>“Why would you need to apologize for giving me a pomegranate?”</p><p>“I have no idea. But why would you need apologize for accepting one?”</p><p>“I’m not apologizing for accepting it, Crowley.”</p><p>Aziraphale reached out and boldly took one of Crowley’s hands in his, causing Crowley such a rush of lightheadedness that he nearly fainted. Aziraphale never touched him, or at least, not on purpose.</p><p>A small heap of incoherent syllables fell out of Crowley’s mouth.</p><p>“Quite,” Aziraphale said, loosening his tie and collar with his other hand. “The pomegranate, Crowley… It was the first gift you ever gave me. The first of many. And I have never…” Aziraphale blushed again. “I have never given you anything.”</p><p>Crowley scoffed at that, nearly withdrawing his hand to gesticulate in agitation. “Yes, you have. Of course you have.”</p><p>“Really?” Aziraphale said, raising a dubious eyebrow. “Name one gift I’ve given you over the years.”</p><p>Crowley spluttered for a moment, wracking his memory and coming up empty. “I’m sure you’ve given me gifts,” he said, stalling. Then inspiration struck. “Tickets to <em> Rigoletto </em>, 1851.” </p><p>Aziraphale ducked his head. “I miracled that ticket for you so I wouldn’t have to go alone. That wasn’t a gift.”</p><p>Crowley thought harder but only managed to produce a headache. “You’re putting me on the spot, angel. I’m sure I’ll think of dozens, given time.”</p><p>“You won’t think of one, darling. It was <em> intentional </em>. I thought if I refrained from reciprocating, I could claim we weren’t friends, that we weren’t…that I wasn’t…”</p><p>He squeezed Crowley’s hand, seemingly unconsciously as he chewed his lip.</p><p>“I was a fool,” he said at last softly.</p><p>“Angel, stop beating yourself up over this. I never noticed, so I obviously never minded.”</p><p>“I mind,” Aziraphale insisted. “And I-I want to make it up to you this Christmas. I have a gift for you.”</p><p>“Oh?” Crowley said, deceptively mildly as his heart pummeled the air from his lungs. </p><p>Aziraphale reached his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a small circle of metal. Then he sank to one knee.</p><p>“Angel…”</p><p>“Crowley, I am not asking for anything. I have—” the angel paused to swallow “—loved you for so long, a-and I never let myself acknowledge it, let alone express it. This gift is just a-a symbol of what I’ve felt this entire time, what I should have confessed centuries ago. I want you to have it, but you don’t have to wear it, or-or feel anything back. No obligations. This gift is unconditional.”</p><p>Crowley stared at the angel, his brain completely disconnected from reality. Was this a dream? Some new, bizarre demon torture technique?</p><p>The ring itself was what finally brought him around. He reached out a hesitant finger and touched it. The metal was warm from Aziraphale’s hand, but it also seemed infused with some of the angel’s energy, as if he’d made it himself, imbuing it with his own aura, his halo. Then Crowley noticed the star-colored stones, the sinuous shape of an ouroboros. It was <em> Crowley </em> as only the angel could know him.</p><p>With a wordless cry, Crowley sank to his knees in front of Aziraphale, throwing his arms around him and bursting into a cascade of all-too-human tears.</p><p>“I take it that you like it?” Aziraphale said in startlement. </p><p>Crowley pulled back just far enough to move from embracing the angel to cupping his face. Then he kissed him full on the mouth without reservation. He had no idea if Aziraphale would kiss him back, if this was even what Aziraphale meant by <em> love </em>, but Crowley was done waiting. If Aziraphale could be brave enough to admit his feelings, then by Someone, so could Crowley.</p><p>He needn’t have worried, though, as after a stunned moment, Aziraphale wrapped his own arms around Crowley, returning Crowley’s kiss with equal ardor.</p><p>Much—much—later, when Crowley finally remembered the stew, he returned to the kitchen to find the pot had done its job, not a drop of their dinner having spilled over onto the stove. He picked up the spoon to stir, his new ring glinting in the light over the cooktop.</p><p>After a moment, now familiar arms and angelic aura encircled him from behind, lips and nose nuzzling into his neck. </p><p>“Smells divine, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, slightly muffled by Crowley’s skin.</p><p>“The stew or me?” Crowley teased.</p><p>“Both, naturally.”</p><p>Crowley smiled, his heart doing something he’d never felt before...it was just resting in his chest, content, glowing softly in its borrowed grace. He turned in the angel’s arms to face him.</p><p>“You love me,” Crowley said, wonderingly. He’d never get used to it, not in another six thousand years.</p><p>“I do,” the angel said with a mirror of the smile that had won Crowley’s heart all those millennia ago on a wall in Eden. “And you love me.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>At which point, Aziraphale kissed him, softly and with such devotion that it suffused Crowley all the way to his core.</p><p>Aziraphale ended the kiss with a pleased hum, and Crowley leaned forward to rest his forehead against his angel’s.</p><p>“Does this mean we’re officially married now?” Crowley asked, for he was fairly sure that no earthly priest had the authority to wed either ethereal or occult entities, let alone one of each together.</p><p>“Oh, lord, no,” Aziraphale said. “I was thinking a lovely, smallish party of perhaps fifty or so. Each.”</p><p>“I really hope you mean bottles of wine, angel.”</p><p>“Well, yes, those too. But I rather meant guests, dear.”</p><p>Crowley groaned. “You really are a bastard.”</p><p>Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at him. “Just enough of a bastard to be worth making love to?”</p><p>With a possessive growl, Crowley launched himself at his soon-to-be-husband, and together they sank to the kitchen floor, divesting each other of dressing gowns and pajamas. Crowley conjured a cushioned shag rug with a quick miracle, ordering the floorboards to soften and stay warm. Then lips and hands, arms and thighs, and even wings caressed every exposed inch, as they whispered heartfelt confessions and long delayed promises into each other's skin, all while yuletide snow swirled outside their cottage window.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>P.S. I was tickled to note that SkreeBat's other prompt ideas for this fic exchange were perfect descriptions of fics I'd written last year for Christmas, so I thought I'd link to them as well, in case you're interested in reading more!</p><p>For a fic about holiday gift exchanges going hilariously wrong, and then somehow, miraculously right, check out: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671650">The 12 Plagues of Christmas</a>.</p><p>For an epic snowball fight with the full ensemble cast, check out: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21809731">Snowmageddon</a>.</p><p>Happy Holidays to absolutely everyone! And welcome (finally!) to 2021!!! &lt;333333</p></blockquote></div></div>
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